


Opposites Attract

by leighwrites



Series: Land of Rarepairs [10]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, i have no restraint and a lot of free time, secret santa time again!, so i went overboard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 09:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighwrites/pseuds/leighwrites





	1. Chapter 1

Richie Tozier shoved an array of books into his locker in frustration. He’d never failed an exam before but _somehow_ he’d managed to fail his most recent math exam. He hated it. There was no way he should have failed. He’d studied so hard for it and yet the burning red D on the page taunted him. He balled up the test and shoved it into his locker, grabbing his science book and giving it a yank to free it from the middle of the book pile.

Bill Denbrough slammed his locker shut two seconds before the sound of clattering echoed in the hallway. He paused for a moment to decipher if the noise had come from inside his own locker or not, and when he’d realised that _wasn’t_ the case he looked around the hallway, spotting the source of the noise further up at the row of lockers across the hall; a boy with wild dark hair and thick glasses surrounded by a mess of books that had fallen out of his locker.

The boy was holding a biology book tightly in one of his hands, pressing it against his leg as though he was trying to ground himself from something; most likely the initial shock of everything falling out of his locker if the wide eyes and slight shake of his shoulders were anything to go by. Bill _vaguely_ recalled the boy from a few of his classes, but he couldn’t seem to place a name to the face. Heaving a sigh, he shoved his science textbook into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder with the intention of going to help the boy pick up his books.

“There you are Big Bill!” One of his baseball teammates, James, had come skidding around the corner before grabbing his arm; already kitted out in his uniform. “Coach called a lunch practice so let’s go!”

“I -” Whatever Bill was about to say died in his throat as a boy with soft blonde hair approached the boy at the locker, taking in the chaos.

“What the _hell_ Richie?” The newcomer snapped, waving his hand at the mess. So _that_ was his name. “This is exactly why Stan tells you to stop shoving everything in there like this! He _warned_ you it would all come crashing down on you, but you didn’t listen.”

Bill relented and allowed his teammate to drag him off. It wasn’t like the boy needed his help now that his friend had shown up anyway. “I can walk you know!”

“So what’s with you?” Eddie asked, crouching to pick up some of the books which he stacked carefully into his arms. “You bolted out of class so quickly I thought you were gonna hurl.”

Richie took some of the books from Eddie, shoving them harshly into his locker. “I fucking… I _failed_ , Eddie.”

“What?”

“That stupid test… I failed it!” Richie shoved the remaining books into his locker and slammed the door shut which bounced back and barely missed hitting him in the face. He reached in to shove one of the books further into the locker and slammed the door shut again. “I never… I _don’t_ fail things, Eds, you know that!”

“Richie -” Eddie paused, heaving a sigh. “You put way too much pressure on yourself with school work. I know you’re doing it because doing it means a good college and good college means getting out of this tiny ass backward thinking town, but it’s not gonna do you any good to drive yourself to death in the process.”

“I _know_ Eddie, I just… math was the one thing I never had to study. I was always a natural with it and I _failed_.” Richie shoved his biology textbook into his backpack, cramming it between some notebooks and a literature book.

“Richie… is something… bothering you?” Eddie asked carefully. It wasn’t like Richie was known for talking about his feelings, and Eddie had to avoid asking _are you okay_ whenever Richie seemed rattled. “Like… did something happen recently? Something that’s breaking your concentration in class? You’ve been zoned out all week.”

Richie didn’t respond for a moment, shouldering his backpack. “No. There’s nothing bothering me. Maybe I’m just tired.”

Eddie frowned as Richie walked off down the hallway towards the cafeteria. He hated it when Richie shut down and ran away from things that were bothering him instead of addressing whatever the issue was and talking to him. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work, and it wasn’t like Richie didn’t _trust_ them. He just hated admitting whenever he needed help.

Now that Richie had slipped onto Bill’s radar, Bill found that he actually saw him quite a lot in school. They were in a lot of the same classes, he saw him in the hallway, in the cafeteria, in the library… and it was frustrating. He found himself glancing at Richie a _lot_ but he couldn’t figure out why.  “Oh I can think of a reason why.” Beverly Marsh let out a soft giggle, leaning back on the baseball diamond bleachers with a cigarette hanging from her mouth, looking up at the clear overhead sky. “You think he’s _cute_ don’t you?”

“Really Bev?” Bill asked, snagging the cigarette from her mouth and sticking it in his own. “Cute of all things?”

“Well… what would you call it?” Beverly asked, kicking her feet out idly with a soft smile on her face which quickly turned into a grin when he didn’t answer. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now give me my cigarette back!”

Bill held the cigarette out to her. “Okay, so I may have a slight attraction to a boy I’ve never spoken to.”

“But you _have_ spoken to him.” Beverly said, plucking the cigarette from Bill’s hand. “It was a really long time ago though. It was before Bowers got expelled. Do you remember the kid he used to harass? Richie.” Beverly paused for a moment to take a drag of her cigarette. “Or should I say ‘Bucky Beaver’?” She amended, a scowl on her face as she air-quoted the nickname.

“Wait… _that_ was Richie?” Bill asked, sitting upright and staring at her. “The scrawny kid with the buck teeth?”

“Yup.” Beverly flicked the finished cigarette away with a grin. “He may still be a little on the scrawny side but having a dentist for a father _really_ did wonders. He’s also the kid Brad used to call metal mouth. Soooo creative.”

“Well there’s a reason he’s failing a lot of classes.” Bill muttered.

Beverly giggled and stood, brushing down her clothes. “You should talk to him, Bill. He’s actually pretty fun to talk to from what I’ve seen around the school and it would help you get to know him better.”

After his remaining classes, Bill made his way to his locker to collect the books he needed to take out for homework, overhearing half of a crass joke from Richie up the hallway while one of his friends, Stan if Bill remembered correctly, was collecting his own things. Bill couldn’t help but laugh quietly, thankful for the metallic door that currently acted as a barrier between himself and the other group. Stan slammed his locker shut with a clang. “Beep, beep Richie!”

“Nope! No way! You can’t ‘beep, beep’ me Stannita. You _laughed_ until you caught onto the joke! It doesn’t work that way! Eddie tell him!” Richie’s voice, which was already loud, echoed in the almost empty hallway.

Eddie groaned loudly. “This is exactly why we call you Trashmouth, asshole.”

“Oi! Tozier!” Bill tensed at the familiar voice of one of his teammates; Brad. Brad was the kind of person who was always pushing _someone_ around, and it was usually someone he felt was weaker than him in some way. It was usually Eddie, Bill found, because Eddie was small. But Brad’s harassment of Eddie hadn’t lasted long because Eddie was a tiny furious ball of energy who had once snapped his leg with a swift kick to the back of his knee.

“Christ, talk about killjoys.” Richie muttered, turning his attention to the baseball player who was striding up the hallway. “Hey! Braddy boy! What can I do for you of this fine afternoon?”

“Cut the crap, asshole. I thought I told you that I didn’t want to see you here again?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific about that.” Richie said, humming thoughtfully. “Here as in the school or here as in this hallway? Because I hate to be the one to tell you this, but not being in school conflicts with the fact my parents want me to be here and get my education, and not being in this hallway conflicts with the fact that my locker is righttttt behind you.”

“You think you’re so fucking smart don’t you?”

“My IQ tests said as much, yes.” 

Bill snorted at that. If it had been anyone else on the team, they would have appreciated Richie’s sarcasm, or even his lack of self-preservation which was honestly quite admirable right now. But Bill knew Brad. He knew that Brad was about five seconds away from slamming Richie’s head into one of the lockers next to them.

“Brad!” Bill called, slamming his locker shut and shouldering his backpack. “We’re gonna be late to practice, you coming?” Brad glanced up the hallway and spotted Bill, taking a step back from Richie with a muttered hiss that they weren’t done before he walked off down the hallway towards Bill who was drumming his fingers against the strap of his backpack impatiently as he waited for his teammate to join him.

“What the _hell_ did you do to _him_?” Stan asked, his attention settling on Richie once they were alone in the hallway.

“What makes you think _I_ did something?” Richie defended.

Eddie arched a brow. “Are you kidding me? You’re always finding some way to get in shit with _someone_. What did you do?”

“Literally nothing.”

“ _Richie._ ”

“Ugh fine! I _may_ have _bumped_ his car with my van but it was an accident! I even paid to have the dent removed but apparently _that’s_ not good enough. If he looked before reversing out of parking spaces it wouldn’t have even happened!”

“Wait a second,” Eddie inhaled sharply, “ _he_ reversed out on you without warning, and yet _you’re_ the one who had to pay?”

“It’s that or he’d probably smash my damn van up, Eddie. I happen to be very attached to the thing. It serves our camping nights well.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

Stan snagged Eddie by the arm as he tried to walk off, yanking him back towards them. “Hold on a second you feisty little gremlin. You might just make it worse if you do something.”

“Excuse you, Stan? Do you forget the reason he left me alone is because I snapped his damn leg like a fine and brittle twig?”

“Exactly, Eddie. He left _you_ alone because _you_ did something. If you do something because he’s harassing Richie it might end up getting worse for him.”

“Sorry Spaghetti, I’m with Stannita on this one.” Richie said when Eddie looked at him for help. “You can’t go fighting my battles for me. I can handle this.”

“Yeah because you’re doing _such_ a good job at that.” Eddie hissed, snatching up his backpack from the floor. “Let’s just go before I hunt him down and smash a baseball bat off his head.”

The first time Bill had any interaction with Richie was in one of the school bathrooms a few weeks later. Richie was sitting on the sink unit, tucked into the corner with a cigarette in his mouth and earphones in. He looked startled at first, ready to bolt from the unit until he realised that Bill wasn’t a teacher doing a bathroom sweep and just another student. He relaxed back into his corner as Bill entered one of the stalls, fingers tapping to the beat of the music against his knee. Richie was vaguely aware when Bill returned from the stall to wash his hands, but he was not aware that Bill has stopped suddenly, hands stilled under the cold water as he stared at the bruising around Richie’s right eye and the cut that was marring his lower lip, matching a few across his cheek and nose. Straightening up, Bill reached over and tapped Richie’s arm, making a gesture for him to remove his earphones. Richie complied, a look of confusion on his face.

Bill gestured to his face. “Did Brad do that?”

Richie stared at him for a moment, silently with his brow knitted. Even with all the bruising on his face and the cut in his lip Bill found him adorable. “Why do you _care_? You’re one of them.” He stubbed the cigarette out into the sink harshly as he spoke, refusing to really look at Bill.

“Richie -”

“Oh wow, look at you, you learned a name of someone lower than you.” Richie hopped off the sink unit and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. He stepped around Bill and Bill made no attempt to stop him, listening to the sound of the door opening and closing as Richie left the bathroom, staring at the place where he’d been sitting only a moment ago. Bill didn’t know what he’d expected, really. He knew that people saw every jock the same; higher than them and complete assholes.

“I told you to talk to him, not corner him in a bathroom.” Beverly said, shouldering her gym bag as she joined Bill after one of her many gruelling Volleyball practices. “Honestly Bill, what did you think was gonna happen?”

Bill rolled his eyes, holding out his hand to pass her his cigarette. “I didn’t corner him, Bev! He was just… there and he looked pretty roughed up. It’s not like I saw him go in there and followed him. I just wanted to see if he was okay.”

Beverly placed the cigarette between her lips, twisting it to one side of her mouth. “Maybe you went about it the wrong way. You have to treat him like an easily startled cat. If you’re not careful, the claws come out and you’re fucked. Try again. A simple _hello_ might work this time. Or you know… just be like _hey are you okay_?”

“Yeah I get the feeling that’s not going to work.”

“It worked for Ben.” Beverly muttered, tossing her gym bag into the back of Bill’s car.

“Yeah but Ben didn’t see you as _just another jock._ ” Bill pointed out, tossing his own bag into the back of the car and climbing in.

“Is that what this is about? Is that what he thinks?” Beverly asked, climbing into the car and slamming the door behind her. “Show him you’re _not_ . For fuck sake, you’re _Bill Denbrough_ and you’re a chaotic mess sometimes but you’re… you’re the guy who stood up for me when no one else did when I was a nobody; a loser who was getting pushed around and locked in toilet stalls by the other girls. You’re the guy who helped me find a way to channel my rage and anger. You’re the reason I play Volleyball. You’re my best friend. Where’s _that_ guy right now? _That’s_ who you need to be again.”

Bill shot her a sideways glare but said nothing as he started the engine and pulled out of the parking spot, Beverly huffing and crossing her arms over her chest. She hated it when he gave her the silent treatment but she also loved it. It meant that she had won. She was right and Bill knew it.

Soon enough, Bill was pulling up outside of her apartment and Beverly reached into the backseat to grab her bags before climbing out of the car. “Thanks for the ride Bill, have a good weekend!”

“You too Bev.” Bill waited until Beverly was inside the apartment complex before pulling off, pausing at the end of the street. He tapped his fingers irritably against his steering wheel for a couple of minutes before going in the opposite direction to his house.

When school rolled around on Monday Richie became aware of two things. The first was that Brad, his long time tormentor, was sporting a broken arm and a heavily bruised face. The other was that he seemed to be sitting himself _away_ from his usual group of friends who were laughing and joking with each other.

And Bill had stopped his conversation with James to greet him. Richie had responded with a half-hearted ‘hi’, sliding into his seat behind Bill who returned to his conversation.

“I can’t believe you slammed it in a fucking _door_ Bill.” James said, disappointment clear in his voice floated from in front of Richie who didn’t dare look up from his literature work. “How are you supposed to play like this? You’re our _pitcher._ ”

“Sorry.” Bill didn’t sound sorry at all, and when Richie looked up, he could see that Bill was staring out the window instead of at James who sat directly next to him. “Shit happens though, right?”

“Yeah, our pitcher almost broke his fingers and our best batter has a broken arm. We’re _not_ having a good month. We’ll have to break out the machine for practice and I hate that thing. It doesn’t throw like a person!”

“Ask Stan.” Richie found himself speaking before he could stop himself, dropping his pen once he’d realised what he’d done. Bill turned to face him, but before he could speak, Richie continued. “Uris. He used to play in Freshman year. He might be what you need if his aim of throwing various items at me is anything to go by.”

“Stan?” James repeated, furrowing his brow as he tried to recall just who Stan was. “Oh, the kid you sit by in homeroom?”

Richie only nodded, looking down at his notebook and grabbing his pen, determined to actually pass his science test. He didn’t - _couldn’t_ fail another test. School was something he was _good_ at. This was supposed to be easy.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about how Brad and Bill _happened_ to show up to school; both of them injured. And now Brad wasn’t sitting with them. Had Brad done that to Bill? Had Bill done that to _Brad_?

“I’m sorry you did _what_ ?” Stan hissed, snapping his textbook shut and glaring at Richie across the library table. Like most of their lunchtimes, Stan, Eddie, and Richie were using the time to get a headstart on their homework so they had less to do at home. “Do you even _think_ before you speak?”

“As a general rule? No.” Richie admitted, tapping his pencil against his notebook. “You don’t _have_ to do it, but we know you miss it.”

“Why would you even ask him that?” Eddie asked, not bothering to look up from his algebra work. “Like, it’s pretty common knowledge that Trashmouth here doesn’t think.”

“Excuse you, I think plenty!” Richie protested, pointing his pencil out at Eddie for emphasis. “Like right now I’m thinking about how you just did all five of those algebra problems completely wrong and that you should just let me do them.”

“Fuck off Richie, I need to do this myself or I’ll never get it.” Eddie snapped, glaring down at his notebook. “What do you mean I did it wrong? All my working is right there.”

“And your working is wrong.” Richie pointed his pencil at the first problem. “You forgot to carry the Y here. What if I do the first one and you figure it out from my work? Then it’s more… helpful guidance.”

“Will it shut you up?”

“For about two minutes.”

“Fine.” Eddie shoved his notebook and worksheet at Richie. “ _Just_ the first one though. I don’t want you getting carried away. Last time you did that the teacher got suspicious.”

“I promise, Eds. Just the first one.”

As Richie set to work, scrawling out the correct working for the equation, Stan shoved his textbook into the backpack hooked to his chair before getting up to find one of the school library books to help with his literature work. As he roamed the aisle of poetry books and classical literature, he caught sight of James and Bill who were sitting at a small table, both attempting to do some of their work but seeming disinterested in _actually_ doing it.

Stan heaved a sigh and grabbed the book from the shelf he needed before heading over to them. “Richie said you guys need a pitcher for practice.”

James looked up from his work, which consisted of all of three lines of their poetry assignment for literature. “And here I thought we’d have to go looking for you. Richie said you used to play.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if I’m still any good at it.”

James hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the page of his notebook. “How about a practice run after classes today? If you still have it, we’d love for you to help us out, but if you’re not and don’t feel up to it, you can just leave.”

Stan thought it over for a moment. “I don’t mind helping. Maybe… the practice run… can just be me getting used to it again?”

“Whatever you need.” James smiled, jerking his pen at Bill. “It’s only until this dumbass heals so it’s probably for twelve weeks at the most.”

Practice went about as well as Stan had assumed it would. Richie and Eddie had shown up as Richie was his ride home standing at the edge of the pitch while Eddie was texting away on his phone to let his mother know he’d be a little late home. It took awhile for Stan to get his pitching arm back with a little edging from Eddie who told him to imagine he was throwing the ball at Richie.

“Your friend is pretty good.” Beverly said, dropping her gym bag onto the ground between herself and Richie as she joined them. “When Bill said they needed someone to fill in for him, I didn’t think the person filling in would be better than him.”

“Stan perfected his throwing skill on Richie.” Eddie tucked his phone into his pocket as Stan threw another ball that no one had a chance of hitting.

“I don’t know how I feel about that but you know… school spirit yay.” Richie said sarcastically. “I know he misses it though. Being out there… it used to be a good channel for his anger.”

“Why’d he stop?”

“Parents. They forced him to focus his time more on his academics than ‘a hobby’.”

“Sucks.” Beverly removed a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, removing one from the box and placing it into her mouth before holding the box to Richie. “I’m Beverly, by the way.”

“Richie.” He took one of the cigarettes from the box, shaking his head when she held it towards Eddie. “Eddie doesn’t smoke.”

“What happened to your face?” Beverly asked, tucking the box into her pocket and retrieving her lighter.

“Brad.”

“Figures.” Beverly rolled her eyes, lighting the cigarette and holding the lighter out to Richie, only to find him already lighting up with his own. “You know we’re not all like that, right?”

“I’m starting to see that, yeah.”

“You know _Bill_ isn’t like that right? He didn’t mean to corner you in the bathroom. He was just concerned.”

“I’m sorry, who cornered you _where_ now?” Eddie asked, only half paying attention.

“No one, just watch the practice.” Richie turned to Beverly as Eddie returned to watching the team on the field. “Look, I don’t need people worrying over me okay? So tell your friend to back off. He doesn’t need to send you here to talk to me.”

Beverly laughed, loud and melodic. “You think _Bill_ sent me to talk to you? I thought you were a genius? He didn’t send me. I know he’d rather you think he’s an ass like Brad than bother you again to straighten it out because that’s just how Bill is. I just… don’t want there to be any tension between you guys over a misunderstanding, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. No misunderstanding here. I get it. He’s nice.”

Beverly grinned and punched him gently in the arm. “And don’t you forget it Tozier.”

The following day when Bill opened his locker, he was met with a folded piece of paper that fell from between the door and the frame, his name scrawled messily onto the front. He bent to retrieve it, slowly unfolding it to read the message written inside.

**Sorry I was an asshole when you were checking on me.**

Bill almost smiled at the messy scrawl, folding the paper back over and tucking it onto the top shelf of his locker with some other loose papers. Richie was nowhere in the hallway and Bill tore a sheet of paper from his notebook before scribbling something down and folding it. Closing his locker, he made a stop at Richie’s to push the sheet of paper through the slats once he was sure no one was watching before continuing to his homeroom.

Math had always been the bane of anyone’s existence. The sheer amount of different things you could do with a bunch of numbers was enough to drive anyone insane and Bill found he was no different. Mike always sped through his work, and was pulling a firm never faltering B, but he was the only one on their team who did. Even James was managing to keep his grade a healthy C, and though Richie had somehow managed to fail the test, his grades had quickly climbed back up to the familiar A he was used to seeing once his homework from the last class was handed back to him.

“I see you’re back to your old self.” Eddie said, looking across the aisle from his own well deserved and _self gained_ C+ to Richie’s A. “You’re feeling better then? Less tired?”

“Yup.” Richie stuffed the work into his backpack. He didn’t miss the large circled F on the paper that Bill was shoving into his bag before tossing it onto the floor next to his desk, lifting his foot to nudge the back of the chair in front of him.

Bill turned sharply, ready to snap at whoever the hell was kicking his chair, surprised to find that it was _Richie_ who sat behind him. He wasn’t even aware that they had this class together, let alone that Richie sat directly behind him in it. “You need something?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Richie said, nodding to Bill’s backpack. “Do you maybe need some help in this class?”

“I -” Bill paused, a frown settling onto his face. He did need help. Richie was offering him help. He didn’t need to turn it down. “Yeah, I could do with some help.”

Richie grinned and quickly scribbled something onto a sheet of paper before handing it to Bill. “Just text me when you’re free and I’ll give you my address so you can come over and we’ll make a mathematician out of you!”

When Richie returned to his locker at lunch to switch over some books, he found Bill’s note teetering on the edge of the books that were piled haphazardly inside. Tucking his math textbook under his arm, he grabbed the note and unfolded it carefully. Due to not having the use of his dominant hand, Bill had been forced to write in caps so his writing was actually legible.

**DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. I WOULD HAVE REACTED THE SAME IF SOMEONE I BARELY/DIDN’T KNOW CORNERED ME LIKE THAT.**

Shaking his head with a smile, Richie tucked the note into the makeshift pouch on the inside of his door that was stuffed with various notes that he and his friends had passed to each other during classes over the year. Taking out his chemistry textbook, he shoved the math one onto the pile and closed his locker quickly, shoving the book into his bag as he headed for the cafeteria.

“That is literally not how it works Stanley!” Eddie was saying as Richie finally joined them, carefully placing a tray of food onto the table and tucking his backpack under the bench.

“That’s exactly how it works, Edward!” Stan snapped, pointing his fork dangerously in Eddie’s direction. “You have to become a heartless before a nobody exists.”

“But Kairi didn’t!” Eddie defended, slamming his hand onto the table. “So where the fuck did Naminé come from?”

“I just told you! It happened when Kairi’s heart was inside Sora!”

“If you two start making out or something I’m leaving.” Richie joked, picking up his fork and digging into whatever the school was passing off as food. “I do not need to see that.”

“Shut the fuck up Richard!” Eddie shot. “We’re having a serious discussion here.”

“I would not call you arguing about Kingdom Hearts lore _serious_.” Richie grumbled, chewing his food before slowly swallowing. “Besides. Stan’s right. It’s also why Roxas doesn’t look anything like Sora.”

“You don’t even play the game how do you know this!?”

Richie shot him a grin. “I’ve watched Stan play enough.”

Eddie groaned, leaning back on the bench. “I hate you.”

“Nope. You just hate that you’re wrong.” Stan pointed out. “You’re so stubborn sometimes, Eddie.”

“Sometimes?” Richie asked, arching a brow as the fork dangled from his mouth. “Where the fuck are you most days, Stannita? Eddie’s always like this.”

“Generally I’m pretending I’m not in this hellhole of a town.”

“That’s fair. So Stannita, you about ready to go back on the team that we all know you miss and leave us fine gentleman behind in the dust?”

Stan rolled his eyes, picking up his empty tray. “Sorry Richie, you need a constant babysitter and I don’t think that’s a job that Eddie can handle full-time on his own .”

Eddie, who was in the middle of drinking his water, snorted. “Who’d want to handle Richie twenty-four seven on their own? That’s just _asking_ for trouble.”

“That’s so needlessly rude.” Richie complained, grabbing the bottle of juice from his tray. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

Stan nudged him in the back of the head with his elbow. “No, you just get into minor crashes when we leave you alone for a few hours.”

“That was _one time_ , Stan!” Richie called as Stan walked off across the cafeteria.

Richie’s room was not what Bill had expected. The chaotic mess of his locker often led people to believe that his entire life was a chaotic mess, but it was the total opposite. Aside from a few scattered books and a jacket tossed over the back of his computer chair, Richie’s room was pretty neat; though it _was_ painted in a horribly bright orange colour, and one of the walls was covered in writing and random little drawings.

“I know. You’re thinking if my room is like this why do the contents of my locker continuously attack me.” Richie said, stepping into the room after Bill and shutting the door. “It’s mostly because Eddie keeps my room from being a complete death trap to myself and others. Stan too, but when Stan moves things it’s too clean and I don’t like it.”

“Did you ever consider if you kept it like _this_ then they wouldn’t mess with your things?” Bill asked, shooting him a smile. “It’s not a death trap but it still shows that someone actually lives in here.”

Richie snagged his backpack from the floor and dropped to sit on his bed, rifling through to hunt out their math work. “That’s why Eddie does it this way when he feels the need to interfere with my room. You should see Stan’s. It’s too clean. It looks like a show home, but I know for a fact his closet is a chaotic mess because I opened that thing once and a box fell on me.”

“Do uh… things fall on you a lot?” Bill asked, taking a seat when Richiie nodded his head to the space on the bed across from him.

“I attract a lot of things, Bill. Books, boxes, clothes -”

“People.”

“Yeah that too. But Brad didn’t fall on me. His fist just has some weird preference for my face.” Richie looked up from his notebook to Bill’s hand, brow furrowing. “Looks like your hand had a preference to someone’s face too.”

“Nope. I trapped it in a door remember?”

Richie snorted, setting his books onto the bed between them. “A door? You expect me to believe that? I’ve been in a lot of fights Bill, never won them but I’ve broken bones and had to cover up what happened. Besides...” He paused for a moment, tapping his pencil against Bill’s broken thumb. “That’s the sign of someone who can’t throw a punch for shit.”

“Okay, you got me. I was in a fight.”

Richie nodded, drawing his hand back. “Was it Brad?” Bill only nodded and Richie frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t like it when he does the things he does to other people.” Bill admitted, twiddling his pen in his left hand almost nervously. “He harasses and pushes people around who he feels are weaker than him or _are_ weaker than him and I hate it. People like him are why you think I’m like that. He deserved it. You and anyone else he did that to? They didn’t.”

Richie opened his text book, slowly flicking through until he found the page they had to work from. “People like me may not deserve what he does but we don’t need someone protecting us. It just makes it worse.”

“What was his reason for starting it? He always has some small stupid reason.”

“Oh you know, guy a pulls out of a parking space and guy b bumps him, but somehow it’s guy b’s fault for ‘not looking’ when guy a could see you were coming. I paid for the repairs like he demanded but it’s not enough.”

Bill hummed thoughtfully, and they dropped the subject in favour of doing their work. After doing the first problem for him as an example, Richie left Bill to do the rest on his own, speedily working through the problems himself.

“Is it hard to write like that?” Richie asked once Bill was done, taking the notebook to check over his work. Bill had been holding the pen almost awkwardly in his left hand; not balancing it between his fingers but rather closing his whole hand around it.

“A little, but it’s just something I have to put up with until my other one heals.”

“You should talk to Eddie. He’s good at this stuff. He could teach you to use your non dominant hand for that stuff so you don’t break the hand you actually need for small daily tasks.” Richie circled an equation on the page, brow furrowing. “If he offers to show you how to do a hip throw though, I’d run. He did it to me once and I couldn’t sit down comfortably for two weeks after the way he planted me on my ass. You only did three wrong here. You forgot to square this one, carry the y on this one and this final one is all wrong. You need to add these two here before this part to find x.”

Bill groaned, taking the notebook back and trying the wrong equations again. “I hate algebra. Whoever added letters to math needs to die.”

“I think they might already be dead, Bill. We could bring them back just to kill them again though if that makes you feel better. Eddie hates algebra too. I believe he was once ready to throw himself out of the school library window to get away from it.”

“Eddie is the uh… short little feisty kid right?”

“That’s _feisty little gremlin_ , actually.”

“You two are pretty close.”

“Yup. Best friends since we were four years old. Only other person that close to me is Stan.”

“I only ever see you with Eddie and Stan.”

Richie nodded, chewing on the end of his pencil idly. “I’m not you Bill. I never saw the point of having a ton of friends. Eddie and Stan were all I ever needed.”

Bill frowned, looking up from the equation he was fixing. “You think all of them are my friends? They’re just… people I talk to because I’m on the same team as them. My friends are James, Beverly, Mike, and Ben. We’re not that different Richie.”

“You’re wrong Bill. We are.” Richie bit down on the eraser at the end of the pencil a little too harshly, grimacing when it snapped in his mouth and all he could taste was rubber. “You’re a _jock_ . You barely have to work for anything. How many colleges are _begging_ for you to join them and offering you a scholarship? Meanwhile everyone else works themselves almost into death trying to make the grades they need.”

Bill tapped his pencil against the page of his notebook. “You’re wrong about that. I didn’t tell a single college I applied for that I’m on a team. I want to get in because I’m _academically_ good, not because I can throw a ball that _might_ break someone’s nose if I’m lucky.”

Richie stared at Bill, completely taken aback by that. Maybe there was more to him than he’d originally thought there was. Maybe Beverly was right and they _weren’t_ all the same. Clearing his throat, Richie leaned forward to check the work Bill had corrected. “Well, let’s make sure that you’re good then. What else are you struggling with?”

“History.”

“Okay, History it is.” Richie said, hunting out his textbook.

“Hey Richie?” Bill pulled his history notebook from his backpack, flicking it open to the first blank page he could find. “How much did Brad make you pay for the damages he caused to his car by pulling out on you?”

“Does it matter?” Richie asked, finding the page they needed to work from. “I paid and it’s done.” When Bill levelled him with a stare, Richie heaved a sigh. “Two Hundred Dollars, maybe Three.”

Richie was not prepared for Friday evening when Eddie walked into his room holding a thick envelope with _Richie_ scrawled onto it which he tossed onto the computer desk, startling Richie who had been in the middle of writing a literature essay. Richie picked up the envelope and turned it around a few times, his brow furrowing in confusion before he looked to Eddie who had flopped onto his back on the bed.

“What the hell is this?”

Eddie shrugged, tucking his hands behind his head. “Your mom asked me to bring it up to you on her way out and she said don’t destroy the house while she’s gone.”

“You set _one_ fire when you’re thirteen and they just don’t let you live it down.” Richie grumbled, grabbing the scissors from the desk to open the envelope with. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Eddie rose from the bed and walked over, peering over Richie’s shoulder to see the wad of cash that was stuffed inside. “There’s gotta be like two hundred dollars in there! Who the fuck would give you so much money?”

Richie pulled a small piece of paper from the envelope, staring at the scrawled words on the page. _I think this belongs to you. Next time don’t just fork your money over to an asshole who is in the wrong._

“Richie...” Eddie bit at the inside of his cheek, his eyes scanning over the page. “Did someone - is that the money you paid to fix Brad’s car with?”

Richie stared at the page, almost in a catatonic state. “It… looks like it?”

“Who the fuck did that and why were they allowed to when I was told I couldn’t?”

Richie stuffed the sheet of paper back into the envelope which he tossed into the top drawer of the computer desk. “I think it was Bill. It’s not like I _asked_ him to do this, Eds. I’d prefer it if he didn’t. It’s either gonna get worse for me or him, and I’m betting on it being me.”

“Maybe it won’t. Think about it. Bill can clearly handle himself and he’s willing to jump in when it comes to Brad. If Brad knows that’s gonna happen whenever he does something… he’s not gonna do anything. Face it, Bill’s like… your bodyguard or something now.”

“Great, just what I need. To be protected like a fucking child.”

“Just accept it. Now are you gonna help me pass math or not?”

The changes were subtle at first, but they were there. Richie talked to Bill more, whether it was about whatever they were studying that night or random things from favourite colours to more personal things like what they wanted to do when they were older and out of all forms of education. Bill wanted to be a writer, and after seeing some of his work for creative writing, Richie couldn’t deny he’d be a _great_ author one day.

Richie wanted to be a DJ. He loved music and the way he could just get lost in it for hours. He loved the stories you could put together with music, even when there were no lyrics. Bill said it sounded great for him. The only other people to have ever told him that were Eddie and Stan.

Richie enjoyed spending time with Bill over the next few weeks. He was so different from what he’d expected him to be like, and there was this ever churning guilt for assuming he’d be anything like Brad since Bill was his bipolar opposite. He really _cared_ about other people, and nothing he’d done for Richie had been out of pity.

Whenever Richie brought this up, Bill would laugh good naturedly and tell him it was fine. He didn’t blame Richie for jumping to the conclusions that he did. If the roles were reversed, Bill was pretty sure that he would have done the same.

“Wait, so you’re telling me there’s actually something called _Corpse Syndrome_?” Bill asked, adjusting the coffee cup in his hand as they left the café.

“Yeah. It’s actually called _Cotard Delusion_. It’s this really rare mental illness.” Richie paused to take a sip of his coffee. Considering how busy the cafe had been, they’d still make it to the library on time to meet the others. “The person suffering with it usually denies the existence of body parts or even a whole portion of the body.”

“That’s… pretty crazy.” Bill said, walking alongside Richie in the direction of the library. “How do you know about this stuff anyway?”

“Mom’s a therapist. She tells me about things. Never names. Just conditions. There’s some scary shit out there, Bill.”

“And you remember it? _All_ of it? I barely remember things Georgie told me two days ago.”

Richie laughed, taking another quick sip of the coffee. “I guess I just… remember things really well?”

“Eidetic memory?”

“I told you that three weeks ago and you remember it.” Richie pointed out.

“Maybe you’re more interesting than my brother who talks about nothing but Pokemon all day and night.”

“If that’s the way to bore you I can do that too. I’m pretty sure I still have the nice Pokemon GO app on my phone.”

“Oh my go - _don’t_. I had to walk Georgie all around the park once for a damn Eevee.”

“But Billll.” Richie fake whined, leaning into him slightly for dramatic effect. “Eevee’s the best pokemon out there.”

“Wrong. Haunter.”

Richie stood upright, staring at him intently as they walked. “I never had you down as a ghost pokemon guy. At least it’s not Mr Mime.”

“Isn’t that the one who punishes kids by marrying their mom?”

“That’s the one Billy!”

“Yeah I’ll pass on the weird clown looking pokemon.”

“It’s a shame really.” Richie dropped his empty cup into the trash can outside the library. “Mime Jr is the cutest fucking thing I ever did see.”

Bill let out a laugh as he dropped his own cup into the trash and Richie grinned. He liked hearing Bill laugh. It was an oddly rare sound. They headed into the library to find Beverly talking excitedly with Eddie about something while Ben and Stan were working away. Once in a while Stan looked up, an amused smile on his face before he looked back down at his work. They dropped whatever they were talking about when Richie placed his bag onto the table, Eddie shot him an amused grin.

“Richie Tozier, notoriously late to everything… actually on time?”

“What can I say Eds?” Richie dropped into the chair next to him. “Bill lured me out of my bed with the promise of coffee as long as I got up within twenty minutes and threw something on.”

Eddie laughed in what was considered just a little too loud for the library. “Why am I _not_ surprised that you were still asleep when Bill came to get you?”

“How else do you lure attractive men into your bed? It’s how I get Stan in there.”

Stan’s head snapped up so fast it was like he was possessed. “That was one time, we were eight, and if I recall it was because _someone_ was dumb enough to watch _Clown_ on his own a few days prior to that event and started to dream about cannibalistic clowns that ate children.”

“Hey come on now, you promised you’d never mention that!” Richie complained. “That movie still gives me the occasional night terror. I no longer like clowns. Terrifying bastards.”

“Oh my god, I remember that.” Eddie said, trying to keep his laughter quiet. “We all had to camp out in your bed as ‘sacrificial lambs’ in case the clown came to get you.”

“I would say I don’t deserve this but I brought this on myself.” Richie grumbled, turning his attention to Bill. “I’m going to focus on just you and your hell that is algebra.”

Bill had just finished his algebra work when Richie snagged the pencil from his hand and dragged his notebook across the small space between them. He checked an earlier page in Bill’s notebook and then worked quickly, mimicking his handwriting almost perfectly as he wrote out the equations and their working exactly how Bill had even though a few of them were wrong, placing the pencil down when he was done and pushing the items back to Bill.

“The teacher will never be able to read that writing.” Richie explained, pointing down at the page. “This one, she will. I’m not tutoring you so you can hand in unreadable work because your dumb ass couldn’t throw a punch without breaking some of your own bones. I want her to see you’re actually improving.”

Bill groaned, dropping his hand to the notebook. “I can’t wait for this to hurry up and heal, at least most of my other work can just be typed up. But Math and Art? Not so much.”

“At least you can’t fail art.” Richie pointed out. “Well… unless you’re Eddie.” Eddie didn’t look up from his own math work, only lifting a hand to casually flip Richie off as he worked on an equation. Beverly giggled, stifling it with her hand so they wouldn’t be kicked out of the library for being too loud. “See that level of salt, guys? Amazing.”

Hanging out with Bill had slowly morphed from study sessions to casual hangouts, and Richie was fully aware of the whispers that people thought he couldn’t hear of how Bill Denbrough, one of the star players on their baseball team was hanging around in cafés and diners with someone who was far too low on the chair for him. It bothered him, probably a lot more than it should, but he couldn’t shake away the tone of complete disapproval people had even while whispering.

Part of him regretted every coffee offer that he’d taken Bill up on.

“You shouldn’t let it bother you.” Bill said one lunchtime, stretching out on the bleachers with his notebook balanced on his leg as he worked on his Social Studies work; a class they _didn’t_ share. It had been three weeks since Bill’s hand had healed, and Richie was often entranced by the way Bill’s hand delicately moved across the page as he drew out the loops and curves of the letters as he was writing. “I like spending time with you, you’re fun.”

Richie cleared his throat, looking out at the track surrounding the sports field. Eddie was running practice laps for when track season started up again and Stan was jogging alongside him with a bottle of water in hand. “I like spending time with you too. You’re a lot different than I thought you’d be.”

“Yeah?” Bill turned a page in his notebook, a smile on his face. “I’m glad.”

“Why?” Below them, Eddie had jogged to a stop to take a swig of water from the bottle. “You hear the things they say just like I do.”

“Because what they say is wrong. You put yourself down way too much. How haven’t you been strangled by Eddie or Stan yet?”

Richie frowned, finally tearing his eyes away from the track as Eddie started to run again. “Because I don’t tell them things like this. I didn’t even tell them when Brad was harassing me until he cornered me that day in the hallway.”

Bill suddenly stopped writing, closing his notebook and tucking his pen into the spiral binding and twisting on the bench to fact Richie. “Richie, you shouldn’t keep things like that inside. You shouldn’t bury everything deep down and hope that it goes away. It doesn’t. They’re your friends. You could have told them everything instead of just letting it sit there and fester.”

“I couldn’t.” Richie looked back out at the track again, avoiding Bill’s gaze. “Eddie has enough going on with a mother who tries to control every aspect of his life and Stan… Stan has enough with his parents pressuring him to do well. I wasn’t… I couldn’t make things worse for them.”

Bill frowned, moving his bag from the bench so he could slide across until he was sitting directly beside Richie, arms almost touching. “You know you can talk to _me_ about things right? We’re friends now, _right_?”

Bill didn’t miss the smile that came to Richie’s face. “Yeah we are.”

“Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you talk to me if something was bothering you? Or would you just bottle it up like you do with Stan and Eddie?”

Richie thought it over for a moment before he exhaled softly, leaning back on the bench. “I promise I’ll talk to you if there’s something going on.”

“Good, because I’d hate to think of you just dealing with something like that on your own.” Bill reached for his notebook and carefully shoved it into his backpack. “And fuck what anyone else thinks. I - Bev and I like you and that’s all that matters. Okay?”

Richie let out a laugh, grabbing his backpack as the bell rang. “Yeah, okay. I like you and Bev too.”

Bill smiled and they climbed down the bleachers to meet Eddie and Stan who were collecting their things from the edge of the track.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t long before Richie realised just  _how_ damn likeable Bill was. Hanging out and turned into hanging out  _alone_ in Richie’s room, watching whatever movie or show caught the interest of the person whose day it was to choose, no school work between them that needed to be studied. Their movie nights, however, were more common on the Saturdays, allowing Bill to stay over for the night so they could watch movies well into the early hours of the next morning.

They were a great way for Richie to unwind after working all day, and their current choice was up to Bill. Bill, being an avid horror lover, was subjecting Richie to  _Would You Rather._ “Yikes.” Richie grimaced, grabbing some popcorn from the bowl between them when a young woman stabbed the leg of an elderly woman with a sharp item.

“I don’t think that’s the normal reaction to have at someone being stabbed.” Bill said through a laugh, tossing some popcorn into his mouth. “Then again, look who I’m talking to.”

Richie snorted and shoved him playfully with his elbow, almost knocking Bill from the bed. “That’s  _rude_ , Bill. You come into my house, sit on my bed, eat my popcorn, and then have the nerve to insult me? You’re a brave man.”

Bill was laughing even more now, holding up his hands defensively. “Okay, okay, truce. I don’t want to end up on the floor.”

Richie grinned, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Bill, I’d never let you fall… not all the way at least.”

“Thank fuck for that. The wood doesn’t look inviting.”

Richie barked out a laugh, retracting his arm from Bill in favour of grabbing some more popcorn. “You know, I didn’t like horror movies much before you started to torture me with them like this.”

“Because of  _Clown_?”

Richie shuddered noticeably. “Come on Bill, I was  _eight_. Being terrified of that movie was a valid response. So were the nightmares.”

“How did you even end up watching a movie that was clearly  _not_ suited for fragile eight year old Richie?”

Richie was laughing again, kicking his foot into Bill’s. “I can assure you Bill, I’m a lot of things but I’m not fragile. My dad left it in the DVD player and thought it was something else. Mom was busy doing laundry and dad went to mow the lawn. I didn’t actually get to the end of it because my mom came in and started freaking out.”

“Yikes.”

“It was pretty hilarious. Mom was shouting at him about how he needs to check things and dad, bless his naive little soul, kept insisting I was fine which was met with _he’s eight, Wentworth, he’s not going to be fine._ Honestly I was with dad on it. I thought I’d be fine too. Turns out that I was, in fact, not fine. I haven’t liked clowns or watched a movie with them in it since.”

“So other than Clown; Funhouse, House of a thousand Corpses, Devil’s Rejects, Stitches and Killer Klowns from outer space are your no-go movies huh?”

Richie nodded, tossing a piece of popcorn into the air in an attempt to catch it in his mouth; failing horribly which drew a soft laugh from Bill. “Silent Hill Revelation was a bit touch and go for a moment too.”

“Why - oh the mall scene?”

“Freaky clown eating a burger that I’m sure was made out of  _human_ meat? Yeah I think I’ll pass on that one.”

“So why were you watching Silent Hill if horror isn’t something you liked until recently?”

“I said I didn’t like them  _much_.” Richie tossed another piece of popcorn into the air, catching it between his teeth with a grin before sucking it into his mouth. “Besides, Eddie likes it. He’s an avid Silent Hill stan and do not ever engage him in conversation about it unless you’re willing to listen to him talk about how different the Otherworld is for everyone, why, what their personal monsters stand for, and how the movie  _fucked up big time with the monsters as cool and awesome as pyramid head looks._ ”

“I’m with him on that one.” Bill tossed a piece of popcorn at Richie, visibly surprised when he managed to catch it in his mouth. “Those monsters were a part of James, not Alessa.”

“Oh my god.” Richie mumbled around the popcorn before eating it. “Bill Denbrough are you a closet Silent Hill fanatic like my dear friend Eddie Kaspbrak?”

“Horror fanatic, remember?” Bill reminded him with a grin. “I literally invested in the badly ported Silent Hill on the playstation store to see what it was like after I’d played the HD remasters of a couple. Resident Evil too.”

“Zombies? Now you’re talking my language.”

“You freak out with clown movies but yet zombies are fine. You’re really something else Richie.”

“Again: I was  _eight._ ” Richie paused, staring at Bill for a moment before quickly turning his attention to the screen where a woman was being held face down into a barrel of water. “I have no idea what’s going on in this movie anymore.”

“I’ve watched it twice and I still can’t tell you.”

“Well  _this_ movie is a bust, how about we move to the next one? It’s not like we don’t have all night.”

“Sure thing, your pick.”

Richie grabbed the controller for the xbox and exited the movie, scrolling through the horror section before a familiar one caught his eye.  _Dawn of the Dead._ “How about this?”

“Is that the original?”

“Yup.”

“Alright, original slow zombies it is.”

Richie grinned and tapped the button to start the movie, grabbing the bowl and climbing awkwardly over Bill before vanishing from the room. He wasn’t gone for long, returning with a freshly filled bowl in one hand, and a pack of soda hanging from the other. He nudged the door shut slowly with his foot, handing the bowl of popcorn to Bill before climbing back into his space on the bed.

“It’s been a while since I watched a good Zombie movie.” Richie said, stretching out in his space with a yawn before handing a can of soda over to Bill. “Stan won’t let me watch them. He says zombies freak him out and after I subjected him to reading walking dead comics I’m  _not_ surprised.”

Bill let out a laugh, taking the offered soda. “Whisperers?”

“Whisperers.” Richie confirmed with a laugh of his own. “He won’t even watch the show with me anymore. Man, a walker ducks  _once_ and he loses his shit.”

“I’ll watch it with you. Whisperers Arc is my favourite one.”

“You, Bill, are my new best friend. Secret one though. Princess Stannita might get jealous if I replace him so suddenly and without warning.”

“Secret’s safe, Richie.”

“Ah, my new hero.” Richie shot him a grin, his attention shifting to the screen. “How many zombie movies do you think we can make it through before we’re too tired to even function?”

“I dunno, but I feel like we’re gonna find out.”

The answer was three and a half. At some point during the fourth movie they’d changed positions to lying on the bed, a mistake on their part that resulted in Bill falling asleep first, and Richie not long after. He’d had the full intention of either waking Bill or just awkwardly scrambling over him and falling onto the air mattress on the floor, but the exhaustion that came with it being three in the morning had won out, and Richie, who had been trying to carefully climb over Bill, gave up and simply fell onto the bed, his head thumping against Bill’s chest before he fell asleep.

Richie was the first one awake the following morning. It was a fortunate thing for him, because as comfortable as Bill was to use as a human pillow, he was pretty sure that Bill would feel more than a little awkward if he woke up with Richie  _sleeping_ on him and his own arms curled around him. He detached himself from Bill slowly, climbing over him and heading to his computer desk, grabbing the pack of cigarettes lying next to his keyboard.

“What are you doing to me, Denbrough?” Richie muttered, taking a cigarette from the pack and crossing the room to his window where the ashtray lay waiting for him on the window ledge. He slid the window up quietly, hopped onto the ledge, and placed the cigarette into his mouth before lighting it. “Damn it, Eddie was right.”

He hated it whenever Eddie was right about something; especially when it came to how he was feeling.

_“You’re spending a lot of time together. Are you_ **_sure_ ** _you’re just friends Richie?”_

Richie tapped his fingers irritably against his knee which was drawn to his chest, the cigarette hanging loosely between two of his fingers. It was true that he spent a  _lot_ of time with Bill outside of school, just the two of them, but he’d never really thought anything of it before. Sure Bill was fun to be around, and Richie  _really_ enjoyed spending time with him, but that didn’t mean anything, did it?

Richie wasn’t sure. For the first time, there was something he  _didn’t_ know, and he hated it.

As it turned out, it  _did_ mean something. Richie had started to notice things over time; things that bugged him. The main one of which was how he couldn’t stop  _looking_ at Bill whether it was during a lunchtime baseball practice while Richie and Beverly sat in the stands smoking, or sneaking glances in class and in the hallway. Even when they were alone he found himself staring at Bill from the corner of his eye, and fortunately for him, Bill never noticed the stares or the way Richie would swallow thickly and look away.

Beverly did though when they were out as a group, always giving him a pointed look with a teasing smile and the raise of a brow that made Richie’s face heat up before he’d direct his attention elsewhere. Beverly thought it was cute, and she kept hoping that Bill would notice the stares that lasted a little too long and looked almost longing.

Bill didn’t, remaining clueless. The only time he’d come anywhere close to noticing had been when Richie had walked into a street lamp, but he’d written it off as Richie just simply not paying attention to his surroundings before asking Richie, who was clutching a bleeding nose, if he was okay or had to go to a hospital.

Beverly had sighed, shaking her head in amusement.

By the end of the month, Richie had come to the realisation that he  _liked_ Bill a lot more than he was supposed to. And that wasn’t okay. It wasn’t  _allowed._ So Richie did the one thing he could; the one thing he excelled in above everything else.

He avoided Bill.

It was subtle at first, because they still hung out with their friends in a group, but never alone. Richie wouldn’t allow himself to be alone with Bill. If they were alone, Richie was pretty sure he’d end up doing something stupid and fucking up their already awkward friendship. It wasn’t long until he showed up less and less to group study sessions and movie nights and then stopped altogether; always having some half-assed excuse to not to show up.

“Richie said he can’t make it again.” Stan said, dropping his phone onto Ben’s kitchen table with a thud.

“What’s his excuse  _this_ time?” Eddie asked, looking up from the literature work in front of him. “Because that’s all it is, right? Excuses?”

“He said he  _just doesn’t feel like it._ ” Stan reached out, tapping the button on the top of his phone to lock it before returning to his work. “Look, if he wants to keep avoiding us, then whatever. He can’t say we didn’t  _try_. He ignores our phone calls and if he bothers to text back it’s some kind of miracle.”

Bill snapped his book shut and shoved it into his bag. “I’m gonna go get him. I’m sick of him avoiding us.”

“Finally.” Eddie breathed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “There’s someone else who doesn’t put up with this shit. Where the fuck have you been all my life?”

Richie was in his own little world when Bill arrived, so much in fact that he didn’t even notice Bill was standing in his doorway. He was lying on his bed, eyes closed and headphones on; one hand resting against his stomach just under his iPod where his fingers tapped to the beat of whatever song he was listening to. He looked almost peaceful like that; as though nothing in the world could bother him.

Until Bill slipped his fingers in the space between the headphones and the top of Richie’s head, yanking them from his head. “What the fuck is your problem Richie?”

Richie stared up at him, brow furrowed. “Me? What’s  _your_ problem? You’re the one coming in here and yanking headphones from people. What the fuck Bill?”

“Why are you avoiding us?”

“I’m not.”

“That’s  _bullshit_ Richie. You’ve been avoiding everyone for a month now and I want to know  _why_.”

Bill recognised the look that suddenly came to Richie’s face; the look of someone who was about to run and lock themselves away rather than talk about what was bothering them, but Bill was fast. He threw his backpack onto the floor and scrambled onto the bed, tossing one leg over Richie so he was pinned, slamming Richie’s arms against the sheets so he couldn’t wriggle away.

“No. You’re not running, Richie. You promised. You promised you’d talk about things bothering you and until now you’ve kept that promise.”

“I -” Richie looked startled, reminding Bill of a deer caught in the headlights. “I  _can’t_ Bill.”

“Why Richie?” Bill asked, his voice low. “You’ve been able to tell me things that have bothered you for three months now. Why are you suddenly unable to talk to me?”

“Because -” Richie sucked in a breath. “I - I just -”

“You just  _what_ Richie?” At Bill’s question Richie suddenly looked desperate as he started to wriggle under him  in an attempt to get away, but Bill held on strong. “Richie! Just tell me what’s wrong!”

“You!” Richie snapped, staring up at Bill in a mix of annoyance and defeat. “ _You’re_ what’s wrong, okay? Is that what you want to hear!?”

“Me?” Bill repeated, his grip on Richie’s arms loosening as he sat back, still keeping Richie pinned in place. “What did  _I_ do?”

Richie inhaled sharply, making no more attempts to get away from him. “It’s not something that you  _did_ , Bill. It’s just me. I’m stupid, and don’t you dare say I’m not because I know I am and this wasn’t supposed to happen but it did and -”

Bill squeezed at Richie’s arm comfortingly. “Richie… you’re rambling a little there. Calm down, deep breath, and then tell me why I’m the problem.”

“Because I like you, Bill! And I shouldn’t, and I know that, but I do. I don’t know when it happened but it just did, and I’m  _so_ sorry for that. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to hate me or think I was gross and go back to ignoring me in the hallways which is what you should have been doing this whole time because now I  _have_ told you and -”

Richie was cut off when Bill had suddenly released his arms and surged forward, planting his arms onto the bed on either side of Richie and connecting their mouths. It wasn’t a soft first kiss like he’d seen replayed in every cheesy romance movie that his mother had forced him to watch growing up. It was kind of rough, almost desperate, and practically full of the need for Richie to  _shut the hell up for once and stop overthinking everything._

Richie just about had time to respond to the kiss just as eagerly as Bill gave it before the shrill beeping of Bill’s phone from a text broke them apart. Bill groaned, sitting upright and dipping his hand into his pocket to retrieve the phone and unlock it to see one new text from Beverly.

_Did you guys kill each other? I thought you were getting Richie and bringing him here?_

Bill looked down at Richie who still looked somewhat on the verge of defeat and wanting to run away, a slight pink dusting against his pale skin. Exhaling softly, Bill looked back down at his phone before tapping out a quick reply to Beverly.

_He wasn’t making an excuse. He needs a day. I’m gonna stay with him._

Bill tossed the phone onto his bag once the message had sent, slowly climbing off Richie and sitting next to him. If he wanted to run now, he could, but he didn’t. Richie did, however, follow Bill’s movements with his eyes almost warily before he slowly sat up, crossing his legs and then proceeding to look anywhere but at Bill.

“You should have just told me.” Bill was the one to break the silence, reaching out and placing a hand over one of Richie’s which was gripping the bed sheet tightly. “I told you. You can talk to me.”

Richie’s hand gripped the bed sheet even tighter. “I didn’t - it felt like this was the one thing that I  _couldn’t_ talk to you about. I thought you’d hate me if you knew.”

“Richie...” Bill sighed, squeezing at Richie’s, curling his fingers under it to press against his palm. “I couldn’t hate you if I tried.”

He could feel Richie’s hand relax under his own until it was no longer holding the bed sheet in some kind of a death grip, but the smile Richie gave him looked so… _unsure_. Bill exhaled softly and brought his free hand to Richie’s face, his palm pressing against Richie’s cheek so his thumb could rub soothingly just under his glasses.

“Hey,” Bill soothed, the tips of his fingers brushing against the long dark curls, “I mean it. I like you too.”

Richie still seemed unsure. Bill understood, really he did. Bill understood people pretty well even if they didn’t understand themselves, and he understood that Richie just needed some kind of validation that he was serious and he hadn’t kissed him just to shut him up; validation that Bill was more than willing to give him no matter how much of it he needed.

And this time when they kissed it was slow, lips barely touching while Bill’s hand shifted so their fingers could thread together, his other hand dipping awkwardly into the dark curls where his fingers twisted around them, almost clutching Richie’s head to his own. And this time Richie responded, one hand clutching at Bill’s own and his free hand twisting into Bill’s lettermans jacket; almost like the other boy was some kind of lifeline.

The resistance was still there, and Richie was still wary, but Bill knew he just needed time to get used to this, pulling back so as not to overwhelm him. “I uh… I’d like to take you out on a real date. Can I?”

Richie eyes scanned over his face for a moment as though searching for something, and Bill realized that he was trying to gauge the sincerity of the question. After a moment, Richie inhaled, his hand dropping from Bill’s jacket. “Yeah. Okay...”

The first date that Bill planned had been simple and relaxing; a movie. There was none of the dressing up and going to fancy places. With the new Predator being the only movie currently playing that either of them actually wanted to see, it was the perfect way to ease Richie into the dating thing.

Richie had dated before, and Bill knew that because they’d  _talked_ about it, but it had always ended pretty quickly. Richie fell hard and fast, and it had bothered his past dating partners. Some hadn’t liked the level of intelligence that came with Richie, because sometimes he just couldn’t  _help_ correcting something. His motormouth and constant touching had been a problem with some of them too, and they had gotten out as fast as they could, so Bill understood why Richie had  _stopped_ dating and why he was incredibly wary about dating Bill.  But everything his past partners had hated and shoved him away for was everything that Bill had come to  _like_ about Richie. He was an unpredictable whirlwind who had crashed into his life the day his books had toppled out of his locker. Bill never knew what Richie was thinking or what he was going to do or say next.

Like right now in the movie theatre. He’d expected Richie to keep his distance as much as possible because he was just  _so_ wary but Richie had slipped his arm around Bill’s on the armrest between them, slowly and unsurely slipping his fingers between Bill’s. Bill’s hand closed around Richie’s, giving it the comforting and reassuring squeeze that Richie needed to know this was okay. That this was  _real_ and Bill wasn’t just toying with him. That Bill actually wanted to date him and wanted him to touch him. That he wasn’t like everyone else Richie had dated. So Bill spent the movie with his hand holding Richie’s, sometimes moving awkwardly to grab his drink from between them because he didn’t want Richie to think that he wanted him to let go and keep his distance.

It became increasingly easier to date Bill with each day that passed over their two week break. Bill had made it plainly obvious that Richie could touch him, and they spent their movie nights curled around each other while watching whatever movie one of them had picked for the day. At first he’d had to coax Richie out of his wary shell, soon finding just how  _right_ it felt to have Richie curled into side with one arm curling around Bill’s stomach and his head pressed against his shoulder.

The first day back at school had been the moment Richie  _really_ understood how serious Bill was. He’d been in the mindset that Bill wouldn’t want people at their school to know about them with the gap in their social status, so when Bill had walked up to Richie’s locker to kiss him before class, he’d ended up leaving a very confused and flustered Richie at his locker with an equally confused Eddie next to him who looked between the unresponsive Richie and Bill who was walking away with an amused Mike.

“So when exactly were you going to tell me you’re dating  _Bill?_ ” Eddie asked, the confusion still showing on his face. “How long has this been a thing?”

Richie shook his head, coming back into reality. “About two weeks. I didn’t think he wanted anyone to know yet.”

Eddie hummed low in his throat, his attention settling back onto Richie. “Is this a good idea? What if -”

“I’m worried about that too but… he seems  _really_ genuine.”

“Until he’s not. I just don’t want you to get hurt again Richie but...” Eddie offered him a warm smile; encouraging even. “I’m happy you’re trying again. If you don’t… you’re never gonna find the person who is actually worth your time and deserves to be with you.”

By lunch there wasn’t a person in the whole school who  _didn’t_ know that they were dating given that Bill insisted on walking with Richie to every class, even the ones they didn’t share just so he could spend a little extra time with his boyfriend, and as Richie left his last class before lunch with Eddie, he found Bill waiting for him, Beverly chatting away about something at his side.

“This is sickeningly cute and it’s only the first day.” Eddie nudged Richie in the arm with a grin.

“I did it!” Beverly bounced over to them, clutching a thick folder to her chest. “I got accepted into fashion school! I can’t wait!”

“That’s great Bev!” Eddie said, mirroring her excitement. “You’ve been working so hard on this!”

Beverly beamed and began to engage Eddie in conversation, excitedly showing him her portfolio in the folder as they made their way up the hallway towards the cafeteria. Bill shifted his books into his left hand, threading his fingers into Richie’s and began to pull him along after them. “This is okay, right?” Bill asked, stroking his thumb against the back of Richie’s hand. “It’s not… too much is it?”

Richie squeezed at his hand, almost as though he was trying to ground himself. “No, it’s fine. I just… I didn’t think you’d want people to know.”

Bill furrowed his brow, tightening the grip on Richie’s hand and stepping a little closer to him. “Of course I want people to know you’re my boyfriend. I’m not ashamed of dating you, Richie.”

Bill didn’t miss the look of hesitance that crossed Richie’s face, slowly fading into a slight smile before he closed the remaining space between them the best he could. Bill raised their linked hands, bringing them to his mouth to press a light kiss to Richie’s knuckles. Bill would never  _really_ know how much the small gestures meant over the bigger ones, because these were the normal daily little things that people in relationships were  _supposed_ to do, but they were little things that he’d never  _really_ experienced.

Saturday was one of the big baseball games; the last one of the season. Stan had remained on the team after filling in for Bill, mostly as a batter and a back up pitcher. Bill hadn’t expected Richie to show up. Richie didn’t do sports. But he was there, arguing with Stan about how his van wasn’t  _that much of a death trap_ while Stan insisted it was. Eddie had given Stan a quick kiss for luck before dragging Richie off who protested the entire time, breaking free to at least  _hug_ Bill before the game. They squeezed into the stands with Ben and Beverly, the latter of which had been sitting sideways on the bleachers with her legs spread across them to save them spaces. “It’s about fucking time!” Beverly chided, twisting on the bleachers and sitting upright. “It’s hard to save seats this far in front.”

They were about five rows from the front, but it was close enough to clearly see what was going on, and from his seat between Beverly and Eddie he could see a somewhat hyperactive younger boy in a too big faded yellow hoodie who was bouncing in his seat with excitement between his parents. Richie didn’t need to see the boy from the front to know it was Georgie. He’d been around Bill’s house enough to know the boy whenever he saw him.

Richie had never understood sports. While his dad had been watching various games for various sports on the television growing up, Richie had always been immersed in some kind of book expanding his knowledge into what it was today. It made it hard to follow the game, but he tried, often asking questions to Eddie that were usually ignored because Eddie was  _so damn into the game_ and Richie just  _talked way too much_ that it was hard to understand which parts he needed to answer.

Beverly had been the one to give Richie the play-by-play, explaining what was going on in a way that Richie understood even when he’d stopped asking questions; his attention focused on the game. There was a small part of Richie’s mind that was clawing at him. It told him that Eddie ignored him because he talked too much and Beverly answered him out of pity. That’s just how it was. The buzzer went off and signalled they’d won and Richie pushed back the creature in his head to cheer with his friends.

The creature came back roughly two hours later when they were sitting in Bill’s room. Bill was no stranger to Richie’s praises on how good he was at sports, even when it came out like word vomit and the words started to blend into one. His excitement was adorable and contagious even if he had  _no idea_ what he was talking about.  Today was no different, except the praises were delivered during a make out session, in which Richie was sitting in Bill’s lap, whenever their lips parted. They didn’t sound as excited as usual and it confused Bill, his brow furrowing, which had been a bad action on his part because Richie had suddenly  _stopped_ talking, staring down at his lap.

“Richie -”

“I’msorry.” Richie had blurted out the words so fast that it had taken a moment for Bill to decipher it. After all, the only one of them truly fluent in Richie was Stan because they’d been friends for so long.

“You’re - what? Why are you sorry?” Bill asked, his hands resting against Richie’s thighs.

Richie inhaled sharply, and Bill waited patiently for him to unscramble the thoughts in his head. “I just, I know I talk a lot and it’s really annoying sometimes because I don’t know when to shut up and I just…  _I’m sorry, okay?_ I’ll figure it out. How to talk less. I promise.”

“Richie… where the hell is this  _coming from_?” Bill’s thumbs rubbed soothingly against Richie’s thighs, reminding him where he was, who he was talking to, and that he could say anything without being judged.

Richie explained what had happened at the game, Bill’s arms circling around his waist and trailing up his back as he did. There was no annoyance or agreement on Bill’s face, only patience and understanding as Richie talked. It wasn’t until he was finished that Bill leaned up, fitting their mouths together in a kiss while his fingers tangled into the dark curls. Bill broke the kiss, making sure that Richie’s attention was solely on him and not the creature that plagued his mind; an ever present reminder of the things that other people  _didn’t_ like about him. “Richie. You’re an idiot.” Bill was smiling, stroking his fingers through Richie’s hair. “I can tell you now, Eddie was just too busy staring at Stan the whole time, and Beverly thinks its cute that you’re trying.”

And Richie  _knew_ those things. Of course he did. But it didn’t stop the deepest reaches of his mind from saying otherwise and sometimes he just needed a reminder from some outside source. From Bill. “I like it when you’re so excited you can’t shut up.” Bill continued, one hand moving to Richie’s face and settling against his cheek. “It’s one of my favourite Richie modes and if you take it away from me I’ll be forced to play every single one of your favourite movies, even the ones I don’t like, until you crack and light up like a five year old at christmas.” Richie smiled at that and Bill pecked at his nose. “I love you for who you are okay?”

 

**-x-2 years later-x-**

 

College was a nightmare. The constant workload put a strain on having any personal time and Richie and Bill were no exception. The upside to college, however, was that they’d managed to get a studio apartment together. Even with the high workload they were still able to  _actually_ spend time together even if they were sitting on opposite sides of a sofa and getting frustrated with whatever work they were doing. College was also when Bill had noticed many little habits about Richie. Whenever he was working on an essay he would sit with his back against the arm of the sofa, legs crossed and his laptop resting in it. His leg would bounce nervously while he tried to filter through the thousand things going through his head and tried to focus, the laptop shaking with every movement.

Sometimes he would reach up to his face, pause for a moment and then drop his hand with a shake of his head. He’d become so used to wearing glasses that sometimes he thought they were  _still_ there even after having contacts for just over a year now. Bill was forever reminding him to remove his contacts before bed because of it and Richie would groan tiredly, climb out of bed and stumble to the bathroom with his glasses to change his contacts over to them so he didn’t hit every door frame and wall on the way back to bed..

“Richie.” Bill groaned, shifting his leg across the sofa and gently nudging his foot against Richie’s leg without looking up from his artwork. “You’re shaking the sofa again and knocking me.”

Richie’s leg stopped moving, but only because he was shoving his elbow down onto it. “Sorry. Damn it, we need to get a desk.”

Bill smiled, shaking his head and stroking his foot soothingly against Richie’s shin. “We’ll get one in a couple of weeks okay? Hopefully before you vibrate a hole into the cushion or something with all that movement.”

Richie snorted at the joke, bending his arm almost awkwardly to type while Bill stared at the page in his sketchbook, tracing the lines of what he’d already done with his eyes. Richie had definitely gotten better since they’d started dating. He didn’t apologise out of fear or some kind of insecurity anymore whenever Bill pointed out the times he was rocking the sofa with his nervous habits. He didn’t think Bill kissing him in the middle of a sentence meant  _shut up I hate listening to you_ but more of a  _I just couldn’t resist kissing you because you’re so passionate right now and I love it_.  Richie looked up from his essay, tapping his fingers just under the keyboard. Bill, like himself, was sitting against the arm of the sofa, one leg drawn up to rest his sketchbook on while he tried to finish his work for art class. Bill was so focused on his work, his brow furrowing as he erased something from the page and tried again, teeth sinking into the corner of his lip. Richie couldn’t help but smile. Bill always told Richie  _he_ had cute nervous habits but Richie wondered if Bill even realised the ones  _he_ had.

Richie exhaled softly, almost relaxed. “Iloveyou.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a sigh before he could stop them, one hand rising quickly to clamp over his mouth. Bill was so focused he probably hadn’t heard him anyway.

Except Bill’s hand suddenly stopped on the page and he looked up at Richie, his brow furrowing as he tried to process what he’d just heard. “What did you just say?” Richie shook his head, refusing to move his hand in case his mouth betrayed him again, clamping it tighter. “ _Richie_.”

“ _Bill_.” Richie groaned, voice muffled behind his hand.

“What did you just say?” Bill repeated, his attention fully zoned in on Richie now instead of his work, one hand curled around the top of his sketchbook. “Don’t make me come over there and drag it out of you.”

Richie groaned, slowly dropping his hand from his mouth to his lap where his fingers drummed nervously at the underside of his laptop. “I… uh… I said I love you?”

Richie’s voice had barely been above a whisper, but Bill had heard it. The first time Richie had said it Bill wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. He’d assumed he’d just been hearing things. Hearing the one sentence that he wanted Richie to say. “That’s the first time you’ve said that in two years...”

“Yeah.” Richie breathed.

Bill moved his sketchpad onto the coffee table and crawled over to Richie, pushing the laptop shut with a smile. “I want you to say it again. I don’t think I  _really_ heard you.”

Richie tipped his head back with another groan. “Come on Bill this isn’t fairrr.”

“I think it’s plenty fair, Richie.”

“Fineeee.” Richie looked back up at Bill. “I love you.”

Bill leaned in and kissed him, fingers threading into the back of Richie’s hair. He’d waited two years to hear Richie say it, and he was going to make the most of it. He drew back, resting his forehead against Richie’s. “One more time.”

“I hate you.” Richie complained.

“Wrong phrase Richie.”

Richie narrowed his eyes a fraction, almost cross eyed with how close they were. “I love you Bill.”

Bill kissed him again, smiling against Richie’s mouth. “I love you too.”

“So you tell me five times a day every day.” Richie said. “Shit. I can’t believe I kept track of that of all things.”

“That’s actually really...”

“Weird?”

“Cute.”

Richie raised a brow. “I think you and I have different ideas on what qualifies as cute Billiam.”

Bill just laughed and kissed him again and Richie wondered just why he’d waited a year to tell Bill how he felt. They were going to be fine.

With age comes the constant change of career choice and Bill and Richie were no exception to the rule. Richie had cycled through about one hundred possible jobs he could do until he’d settled on following his mother’s footsteps, buckling down and taking on psychology in their second year of college. He already knew half of the stuff they were going to teach him from the times he’d read through his mother’s old books, and the class was pretty easy for him. Bill had only cycled through about ten before realising he wanted to  _write_ instead of being a tattooist; taking on two different writing classes and keeping his art class.

Richie returned home from class one day to see Bill stretched out across the sofa with his laptop, fingers poised just over the keys and a thoughtful look on his face. Richie knew the difference between Bill doing college work and Bill generally trying to write, and everything screamed right now that he was trying so hard to finish whatever he was writing. Not being one to disturb Bill’s writing modes, Richie quietly closed the door and set his bag down before heading for the kitchen area to grab a can of soda from the fridge. He watched Bill work for a moment as he popped the tab on his soda, taking a small sip.

Bill’s brow furrowed, frustration seeping onto his features and Richie sighed, placing the soda can down and crossing over into the living space. He leaned over the arm of the sofa and curled his arms around Bill, pressing a soft kiss just behind his ear. Bill snapped out of his daze, threading the fingers of one hand through Richie’s and tilting his head back to look up at Richie with a grin. “When did you get home?”

Richie’s face noticeably lit up at Bill referring to the place as their home and not just ‘back’ or ‘here’. “A couple of minutes ago. I was trying not to disturb you but you were starting to look a little frustrated. Hard time writing?”

“Yeah. It feels… bad.” Bill relaxed as Richie raised his hands and started to run them through his hair. “Like… really bad.”

Richie hummed softly, scraping his fingers gently across Bill’s scalp. “Read it to me. The problem with being a creator is that you’re always so judgemental about your work. You need a second opinion.”

Bill sighed, sitting upright as Richie began to rub at his shoulders, adjusting his laptop to see the screen better. Richie listened intently as Bill read out his story about a town where a cult of kids grew up and killed their own parents along with the rest of the adults in town, only stopped when two passing adults had shown up and put an end to the cult leaders reign. “Well Billiam,” Richie grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “you have successfully made it so that I will never step foot into a damn cornfield again. It’s amazing and you really should stop beating yourself up about your writing. E-mail it and get your first book published.”

“I don’t know...” Bill chewed at his lip. “I don’t feel like it’s good enough for that.”

“Are you kidding me Bill?” Richie asked, leaning over to shut the laptop and move it aside before crawling onto Bill’s lap. “You are an  _amazing_ writer. Every story you told me when I couldn’t sleep? You should  _already_ be a published author.”

Bill smiled, wrapping his arms around Richie’s waist as Richie leaned in to give him a quick kiss. “What would I do without you?”

“Hey, that’s not fair. That’s what I ask myself about you every day. You can’t take that away from me, Bill.” Richie complained, shifting in Bill’s lap to lie across him, resting his cheek against his chest. “Now sh, this is cuddle time.”

Bill let out a soft chuckle, reaching for the television remote and scrolling through Netflix to pick out a random movie. Settling on Spiderman, Bill placed the remote back onto the table and curled his arms back around Richie, drumming his fingers gently against his back as the movie played. Halfway through the movie he glanced down to check on Richie who was half awake, wondering how there was ever a time when Richie  _wasn’t_ in his life. Richie nuzzled at Bill’s chest as he yawned; fingers gripping at his side. Bill kissed at the top of his head, hand flattening against Richie’s back.

And Richie knew he was gonna be fine.  _They_ were gonna be fine.


End file.
